


MIDLANDS: The Seduction of Frankie Heck

by RoryOmore



Category: The Middle
Genre: Adultery, Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Financial Issues, Seduction, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoryOmore/pseuds/RoryOmore
Summary: "Out here in the Middle, there's no middle anymore, its all just winners and losers."“It looked like the day of reckoning had finally arrived for the Hecks.   We had deeked, dodged, and wormed our way out of one mess after another, but we no longer had any wiggle room left, none.”Financial disaster finally threatens to engulf the Hecks leading Frankie to make some life altering decisions.





	1. Frankie's Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The internet confession of Frankie Heck. How the hell I got my ass in a sling.

Out here in the middle, there’s no middle anymore; it’s all just winners and losers……. I guess what I’m trying to say is, hey, it’s not my fault.

 

Okay, so this is like my confession, my internet confession, ‘cause after everything that’s happened I feel like I gotta confess to somebody. I could go to a priest, but then I’d have to get dressed and do down to the church and all that, you know, effort. This way I can tell my story without leaving home, or even putting on pants. Actually I’m completely naked right now, so try and keep that in mind while you’re thinking about giving me absolution – which you’re gonna do, right?

I guess I could blame it all on the damn economy. That’s what I always used to do, blame everyone and everything but myself. The truth is that I had been carelessly skating on very thin ice for a long time, trying to ignore that it was getting thinner and thinner every year, (the economy is the ice get it), and one day I just dropped right through into the cold, black waters beneath.

To save money, Brick's school cut out the free buses, and forced me into a carpool horror that really pushed me beyond my limits. One day, running late as usual, with a car full of stressing children, I tried to squeeze past a garbage truck. I ended up denting my side mirrors and scraping the sides of both my car and the truck. Worse, I almost ran down one of the startled garbage men, and then just kept on driving even though I could hear them yelling at me. That was a big mistake; morally wrong, and also, illegal, but I figured who cares about a scratch on some dirty old garbage truck, right? Of course I didn't tell Mike the truth; I told him someone did it to me in a parking lot. I couldn't tell him the truth, not on top of the other bad news I had been sitting on.

That was Wednesday; on Tuesday Dr Goodwin told me that he wouldn’t be needing me on Mondays and Fridays for the foreseeable future. It came as a real shock, although I should have seen it coming. I don't know why I thought I would be a good dental assistant, ya, like it was a lack of skills or training that had been keeping me down all my life, and not my basic laziness, forgetfulness and poor attention to detail. I admit it, I was a lazy bum, but I put that down to poor diet, bad sleeping habits, lack of exercise, and being generally bored and disappointed with my life. Anyway, I did my dental assistant job the same way I did everything else – half assed. I was usually late, forgot simple things, took long breaks, stole office and bathroom supplies, and was stuck on the phone or running out the door to take care of some family emergency every second day. But I had figured Dr Goodwin was just a dumb hillbilly sap that I could take advantage of forever. It was like somehow I figured I was the only trained dental assistant in Orson.

That was another big mistake; that makes two so far if you’re counting. The first one was about the garbage truck, in case I’ve lost you already.

In the New Year a spunky little tramp came sniffing around the office. She was a Noblesville’s girl who had gone out to California to be a movie star, but ended up a dental assistant, and had come back home to reconnect with her roots – or so she said. Unfortunately she had legitimate credentials and references, was full of energy, and was just as cute as a button. I used to be the cute, petite one, but at four-eleven, the little dickens was three inches shorter than me, and at thirty, was fifteen years younger, and she clearly had her eyes on my job. I was firm about telling her that there was no work here, but she had cozied up to Dr Goodwin, and he quickly decided to interview her as a temp for emergencies since, “Frankie has a lot of emergencies.” Jerk.

Right away she started coming in, without pay, to “learn the ropes” so that she would be ready if called upon. She quickly charmed all the clients, found countless flaws in the way I was doing things, and in less than a week, had Dr Goodwin head over heels in love with her. She made me look like a bumbling, dumpy old witch. Of course she didn't have three kids and a husband to take care of, but no one was going to cut me any slack over that. Of course the love-sick doc couldn't just flat out fire me; he needed some good reasons, but if he had been keeping any kind of notes, he’d have a hockey sock full of my little indiscretions and misdemeanors. If he hadn’t, he now had little miss hot pants around to point them out.

I tried to up my game, but even my A-game isn't much to brag about. Losing those two days meant she was all the way in the door now, and would soon own the whole place, which meant I would be in the street on my half-assed kiester. I had hinted about the approaching disaster to Mike, but he wasn't paying attention to me as usual, he had troubles of his own at the quarry where they were squeezing hours and increasing workloads to make up for the mistakes made by those fat cats on Wall Street. 

It looked like the day of reckoning had finally arrived for the Hecks. We had deeked, dodged, and wormed our way out of one mess after another, but we no longer had any wiggle room left, none. We had started out okay, a couple of under-achieving kids out of high school with no plans, no worries and no ambition. Times were good, and we had the example of our less than inspiring parents to go on. They hadn't had much in the way of smarts, drive or guile, and they had done just fine. That was the American Dream the way we understood it – everyone was entitled to a comfortable, middle-class living without really bringing anything to the table.

Mike got a good job in construction……

Hang on, you don’t really want to hear all this. Look if you really want to know how I got my ass in a sling I’ll add like an appendix or index or whatever it’s called, at the end. So let me just skip forward to now. Hell, this part is putting me to sleep, and it’s my life.

Wow my fingers are tired, no, not from that, from deleting all the boring stuff I wrote.

Okay, let me lay it out for you; with my full-time job at the dental clinic, and my student loans in deferment, we were just about breaking even. I still alternated paying the utilities, which meant we were always a month behind on something, and there was little money for any kind of extras, and no reserve for emergencies or mistakes, and let me tell you, around us, there were always emergencies and mistakes. So even with Mike doing humiliating deliveries for Little Betty three nights a week, we still had nothing to show, and that was while living a hard, boring life. The worst part was that there were no savings, and no prospects of things ever getting better. No hope. When that finally sunk in to us, it really put a raw edge on everything. We had run out of humor, pluck and, it was beginning to seem, even love.

Losing those two days’ work meant losing five hundred and fifty dollars a month. If we couldn’t make that up with new work, we would have to start missing payments on all our essential bills, and actually face the prospect of winding up on the street. This was no joke; it had happened to better people than us in the past few years.

I finally told him on Thursday night. (It gets more interesting from here on in, I promise.)

He was furious. There had been fights before, but never in my life had I seen him so mad, or heard him swear so much. For the first time in my life I thought he might actually hit me; it felt like, for the first time in his life, he really wanted to hit me. It turned out there had been a lot of pent up anger and resentment locked behind his quiet demeanor. He blamed me, he really, truly, blamed me for not being able to hold down a decent job after we had spent so much on my schooling, which he had never been in favor of in the first place. He had a lot to say about my laziness and general lack of usefulness. I argued and cried and pleaded to no avail. That was a little unnerving; the tears had always worked for me in the past.

“So then you're off tomorrow?” it was more of an accusation than a question, like I had screwed up just to get a day off.

“Yes.”

“So then you're up at the crack of dawn and your ass is out on the street looking for work.”

“Yes of course.”

“No dogging it, no lying around. We can't afford to lose even a day’s pay, do you understand that Frankie?”

“Yes I get it Mike, I screwed up; I have to be punished,” I replied peevishly.

“No you don't get it. It's not a game damn it! You have to try harder; you've got to work harder. Damn it, just when we start to get our shit together you go and fuck it up again!”

It went on and on like that until he had to go to Little Bettys. I slept on the couch, and he didn't even bother to wake me when he got in. 

The next morning he shouted “Rise and shine Frankie!” and slammed the door on his way out.

Of course I hadn't slept well with all of the tension and the lumpy couch and all, so after I got the kids off to school, I lay down just for a few minutes. Then the phone rang; I looked at my watch and saw that it was already ten-thirty, and I almost answered it out of habit, but then hesitated and let it go to the voice mail. 

It was Mike; “Frankie, you better not be there Frankie. You hear me, get your ass out of the house and find a God damned job!”

So I schlepped around by bus though the snow and cold, and embarrassed myself in front of the whole dental community by begging for a job where I knew there wasn't one, and broadcasting to everyone that I was on the verge of being fired. I told Mike that it was a bad idea to do that, but he wouldn't listen, and I have to admit, that by this time I was a little afraid of him. At the end of the day I put my sorry ass on the bus and when I dragged it through the door Mike was waiting.

“Get a job?” he asked angrily.

“No, and hello to you too,” I snarked back at him.

“I got another delivery job; that makes four nights a week that I have to put on that stupid ice cream jacket and drive that stupid, fucking, fagot truck. I'm a grown man for Christ sake.”

“Well excuse me for living. There's nothing out there in the dental field; I went everywhere and practically pleaded for a job.”

“And so you’re quitting now?”

“What? Everything is closed.”

“Not the mall. Keep your coat on.”

“What about supper? I haven't even eaten.”

“Ya I bet Frankie, let’s go.”

He was right of course; I had spent my last few dollars on coffee and donuts. So he dragged me like a child to the mall and then stood outside of each store to make sure that I applied, and filled out all the stupid forms that they were just going to throw out anyway. No one wanted me, I was too old and frumpy, and I'm sure I looked like shit. It was humiliating; I could hardly keep from crying through the whole thing, but that wasn't the end of it. After I had gone through all of the stores he made me do the same at all the fast food places in the food court. I had to stand there, in front of all those people in the food court, people who knew me, people who were patients at the dental office, and get brushed off by teenagers while Mike hovered behind like a prison guard. 

For the first time in my life I hated him. Not just a flash of silly anger, but a deep hatred. Oh, I knew it would pass, but not for a while. He could see the hate in my eyes and he didn't seem to care at all.   
Back in the car he said, “If you don't get a job by Monday night we’re selling your car. That’ll save us least a hundred and fifty a month.”

“Not my car!”

“No choice Frankie.”

I slept on the couch again that night. Saturday, Mike took me to hit all the sad stores downtown, and then out to every hotel and motel within bus range. Nothing, nothing, nothing. At one point I balked and refused to do it, and he bodily dragged me into the lobby of the Eden Rest motel. That was the first time I ever really felt the difference between my five-foot-two and his six-foot-three; physically I was helpless against him. He took me home and then headed off to work. I went to bed and sobbed myself to sleep. That night he slept on the couch, and when I got up he just walked past me and lay down in bed and stayed there for the rest of the day.

I thought my humiliation was over, but it was only a reprieve. We didn't say a word to each other before he went off to work Sunday night. The anger had burned out and I was beginning to reach the point where I was ready to begin the long reconciliation process, with all the tears (on my part) and compromise (mostly on his part), and then the coming together. I was trying to put those vibes out there but I was getting nothing back. I slept on the couch and he passed me by again without a word. For hours I struggled about whether or not I should go to him, but in the end I didn't. On his way out Monday morning he said; “There are still all the offices in town Frankie. Hit them all, and not on the phone – in person.”

The hell with him I thought, I wasn't going to take the damn bus downtown and go begging through offices. I didn't get up until noon, ignored Mike when he called, but then lost my nerve and slunk out around two just so I wouldn't be home when he came in. When I got home the rest of the family were in the living room eating out of cans. “Find a job?” Mike asked.

“No.”

“Did you put the car up for sale?”

“No. I was busy, when was I supposed to do that?”

“I thought so. Doesn't matter, I did it.” He said and slapped the paper down on the table. “Five hundred dollars, take no less, absolutely no less, than four hundred.” 

Then he went to bed, and again it was left to me to decide whether to slink back to him and crawl into bed and admit defeat, or keep the feud going. In the end I caved and slipped into bed a little after midnight. No reaction from him. After a while I tentatively snuggled up to him. 

“Don't,” He growled. I stomped out and went back to the couch. I tossed and turned and worried about everything, and then worried that all the worrying was keeping me awake when I had to go to work in the morning. 

Mike made sure I got up in time to actually catch the right bus, but then I had to hang around in the cold for twenty minutes waiting for Dr Goodwin to arrive and open up. I felt like death and probably looked like it too, but somehow I managed to drag myself through the day with no more than my usual screw-ups. Tuesday night was one of the few nights Mike didn't work, but he didn't stay home or even have supper with us; instead he went over to his brother's house, and he never goes over to his brother's house. I moped around for a while dreading a call by someone wanting to buy my car and then crashed into bed around nine. I was dead to the world and didn't even wake up when he came home, he slept on the couch anyways.

It’s surprising what a good night's sleep will do, and I woke up pretty fresh Wednesday and even prettied myself up as much as I could with the cheap products I have. I got to work on time and was as perky as could be, and didn’t screw up at all that day, but you know what, nobody noticed, least of all Dr Goodwin. I left miffed, and hurried home to try and make up with Mike, but he just brushed me off. 

After that the life went out of me. I slept badly, was late for work the next day, and stumbled about like a zombie. I’m pretty sure that Dr Goodman would have fired me right then and there if I hadn't dashed out the door at the end of the day before he could talk to me. 

It was a horrible weekend. Mike rebuffed every attempt to make up, no one showed any interest in my car, bills were coming due as the end of the month drew near, and Mike dragged me out to do another humiliating round of the stores. The future stretched out in front of me endlessly gray and depressing, relieved only by a nervousness sense of dread that it could all still get worse. Then Monday came and things took off in a whole new direction.


	2. The Man with the Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I had been affectionate to him, but that was to bring out the whole male protective instinct, not the predator instinct, and anyway, I was married; what kind of a woman did he think I was?”
> 
> When she puts her car up for sale Frankie discovers that she is wanted for hit and run. Her situation has gone from terrible to desperate. The mysterious buyer “Tom” has some suggestions, but can she trust him, and is she willing to pay the price for his help?

MIDLANDS 

 

CHAPTER TWO THE MAN WITH THE ANSWERS

Monday morning I dragged myself out of bed around eleven when Mike called to tell me to “get the hell out of bed and get a job.” I sneered at the phone and bent down to pick up the mail. Bills; utilities, insurance, credit cards, store cards. I sat on the couch and cried for a while, and then curled up in a ball and went back to sleep. It took me a while to realize that someone was knocking on the door, not loudly, but patiently. Our doorbell hadn't worked for months.   
“Shit,” I said rolling off the couch. I ran my hands through my hair and shuffled to the door in my slippers. A pleasant looking, middle-aged man stood at the door wearing a new looking, dark ski jacket with the collar pulled up, and a Notre Dame Football cap on his head. He didn't look like a bill collector, too neat, or a cop, too friendly. He was average height for a man, so about six inches taller than me, but I was used to being smaller than everybody, so he didn't look threatening.   
A blast of cold air hit me when I opened the door, another unseasonably cold day in mid-march. “Yes?” I said.  
“I came to look at the car you have for sale,” he said and smiled. He had nice blue eyes, even white teeth, and a white, “Crusader” style beard and mustache closely trimmed.  
“What? Oh yeah, sure,” I replied. I was still foggy brained.  
“So, can I look at it?” he asked in a slightly raspy voice.  
“Sure, it's right there.”  
He smiled broader, looked at me closely, expectantly. “Are the keys in it?”  
“Oh…. No, please, just step in for a second; I'll get them and go out with you. Just wait sec, okay.”   
He stepped inside, “Sure, thanks,” he said  
“Just a sec,” I said as I rushed to the bedroom. I whipped off my pajamas bottoms and pulled on my jeans not bothering to put on panties. I stuffed my pajama top into my jeans, pulled on some mis- matched socks and headed for the door. He waited patiently while I pulled on my boots. “Hi, I’m Frankie,” I said sticking out my hand.  
He gave it a firm shake, “Tom Smith.”  
I threw on my ski jacket and we went outside where it was very cold and a mean wind was blowing. Despite the cold he took his time looking over the car, spending a long time studying the body where it was damaged. I found myself hopping from foot to foot and suddenly I had to pee. He got in and turned it on and let it run for a couple of minutes, then turned it off and got out. “Five hundred?” he asked.  
I almost dropped the price before the negotiation began, but I caught myself. “Yep” I replied.  
“Dollars?'  
“Yes,” I replied a little taken back.  
“Just kidding,' he said and patted my shoulder in a friendly way. “Well,” he said, “You have sustained some real damage. Both side mirrors are crushed and there are wicked scratches on both sides. What happened, did someone sideswipe you into another vehicle or something?”  
'Yeah, really funny huh. No, I don't know what happened, it happened in a parking lot. I didn't even see what happened. I wasn’t there,” with a bit of effort I stopped myself from babbling on any further.  
“A parking lot? Wow, he must have been really moving to leave a gash that deep. He even left some paint on you.” He bent down to look at it again, “Unusual paint; orange, you don't see orange vehicles very much.”  
I made a high nervous laugh and slapped my leg. “Beats me,” I said. “Well I don't want to force you into anything,” I went on, trying to get rid of him now. He took off his hat and scratched his head. He was bald on top and closely cropped on the sides. He had a military look to him, an authoritative look that made me increasingly nervous as I lied through my teeth.  
“I happened to be looking at the Orson Police website before coming over here and they had a notice on there about an unsolved hit and run involving a city garbage truck. One of the garbage men is claiming that he was injured jumping out of the way; claims he could have been killed.”  
“Oh come on,” I exclaimed without thinking; “That sounds crazy, I mean, I don't know anything about it, but you know how those guys are.”  
“An orange garbage truck,” he persisted trying hard to look me in the eyes as I looked anywhere else I could.  
“Crazy, huh,” I said laughing and wringing my hands together.  
“Why don't you let me come in and we can talk about it?” he suggested.  
“Oh I don't think we need to do that. We'll take four hundred,” I blurted, but he just kept talking.  
“The report said that the vehicle they were looking for was a dark blue, older model, four door sedan - driven by a stressed out, middle aged woman with kids in the car.'  
'That could be lots of people these days,” I replied, at least that was true.  
He raised an eyebrow and smiled, “I’m willing to talk about it, you want to go inside and talk about this?”  
“Yes, of course. It's really cold this year huh.”

 

####

 

We went inside and I left him standing in the doorway while I ran to the bathroom, then dashed into the bedroom and threw on some nicer clothes; I wasn’t sure where this was all going, but I knew that I wanted to face it looking a little less like a total looser. When I came back he was still standing there on the mat at the doorway. He had undone his coat, but still had his hat on. Still smiling pleasantly, he said; 'There’s a five hundred dollar reward.'   
“Oh shit.” It felt like the bottom just dropped out of the room. I couldn't breathe, I started sweating, my mouth clogged up, and I only barely managed to choke out, “Why don't you take your coat off and come in for a bit.” A minute ago I had wanted to get rid of him, now all I could think of was keeping him from running off to the police station. He took off his coat and boots and I took him by the arm a led him into the kitchen. I didn't know what I was doing, what could I do? I just started crying.  
“Please, please……it’s Tom, right? Tom, please, you've got to give me a break here. I didn't know it was a hit and run. Really, it was just a scrape and I didn't hit anybody. Come on, I had a car full of whining kids and we were late for school. I had to get them to school, I meant to go back.”  
“Well, just tell that to the police; they might go easy on you if you come clean even at this point.”  
No, no, no.” I almost bent over double in my pleading. “Nobody can find out. If my husband found out he'd kill me. There would be fines for sure, and we don’t have any money to pay fines!”  
“It’ll be worse if you wait and they catch you later,” he said sympathetically, “you should turn yourself in right now.”  
I stepped close to him and grabbed him by the upper arms. “I've got unpaid tickets, over six hundred dollars – and now this on top of it.”  
“How old are the tickets?”  
“Months; some for speeding, some for parking, some for other things; my husband doesn't even know about them.”  
“They would hold you on that for sure, even if they went easy on the hit and run. You would have to spend a few days in jail just to get a bail hearing, then they would hold you until the tickets and fines were paid.”  
“I don't have any money!” I wailed. “No money at all, we're broke.” I started sobbing uncontrollably and put my hands over my soaked face. Then it really struck me, “Jail! Oh no, I can't go to jail. I'll die, I mean actually die, and I’m not good in tight places. Oh God no. You've got to help me.”  
I grabbed him by the arms again and looked at him with streaming, pleading eyes. He pulled me in and hugged me, holding me tight to his chest. He stroked my back and hair and I was so distraught that it didn't seem strange. I needed help and comfort and he was giving it to me. “What do you want me to do for you Frankie?” he asked.   
I looked up into his face, not as much of a strain as looking up at Mike, and that was oddly comforting. “Please don't go to the police,” I pleaded.  
“Well, I might be persuaded of that, but someone is going to notice pretty soon, especially when you have an ad in the paper.”  
I buried my face in his chest and he hugged me very tightly. “What am I going to do? You’re a smart guy Tom; please tell me what to do. Please.”  
“Why should I help you?”  
“Because I'm desperate,” I wailed. It was true; there was no good reason for him to help me, I didn’t deserve to be helped. All I had was my own pathetic need, and he was the only possible help I had.  
“Okay Frankie,” he said and kissed me on the cheek. After a moment he said; “I could give you a check for five hundred dollars, take the car and put it somewhere out of sight at least.”  
“You're going to buy it?”   
“Oh no, I’m not going to buy a car that the police are looking for in a criminal case. I’m in enough trouble already for not reporting you to the police. No, I’ll give you the check so you can show it to your husband to prove that you sold the car. The check won't clear until Friday, but that’s not unusual. We’ll take your car to Midland; I have a friend there at the fire department who will take it as a donation. He won't look to close at it, and burn it up in a fire training session; you’ll get a proper write-off slip and the evidence it was destroyed. Then I'll drive you back to Orson.”  
I wasn’t sure I was following this, there was more to consider here than I had imagined. “So, Okay, then I'm in the clear,” I asked feeling a growing sense of desperation and helplessness. I was screwed.  
“Well, except for the five hundred you owe me for the reward I'm not getting for turning you in, and five hundred for the car I'm not getting, and I figure another five hundred you owe me for helping you out of this mess at great personal risk and inconvenience.”  
I let go of him and stepped back, “fifteen hundred bucks? Come on! I don't even have fifteen bucks,” I exclaimed slapping my thigh. It was true, damn it, nothing ever worked out for me.  
“Not to mention the traffic tickets and the fines,” he added raising an eyebrow.  
“I am soooo screwed,” I moaned hanging my head. “That’s it then; Mike is going to kill me. I'm going to jail,” I threw both my hands in the air. “Damn that car pool!” tears were stinging my eyes and I wanted to hug him again, just because he was there. Just because I felt like I needed to hug somebody, anybody.  
I was starting to think that he was a nice guy, but he just shrugged, “Tough luck Frankie; I guess I'm off to get the reward,” he said matter-of-factly, and started for the door.  
I wanted to yell at him, call him a bastard, but what the hell did he owe me? By the time he had taken two steps to the door I was past that and nearly overcome with panic, he was my only hope, my life buoy in stormy waters.   
“Wait! Come on Tom; Tom, you've got to help me out here. You said you were going to help me,” I whined, well aware of the tears in my eyes; they were real, of course, but I also hoped they would have an effect on him. He stopped at the door and turned to look at me. He looked me up and down, which was a little unsettling, but at least he had stopped. I had to keep him from walking out that door and going to the police. My whole life depended on it, so I rushed to him and wrapped my arms around him. I felt a shameless sense of relief when he hugged me back and started stroking my back with one of his strong hands.  
“Okay, so look, I’ll take give you the check, I’ll get the car out of sight right away, solve the immediate danger of someone else spotting it,” he said in a gentle, but commanding voice. I laid my head on his chest; suddenly he was the most important person in the world to me, everything and everybody else was forgotten.  
“You said you're off Friday, so here’s what you do; take the bus out to the end of Hadley Street, your car will be there and you can follow me in it to the fire station in Midland. After we get rid of the car I'll drive you back.”   
“Oh thank you,” I replied letting out a big breath. I didn’t know anything about him, but he seemed to know what he was doing, and it looked like he really was going to help me after all, we could work out the money later; there was always later for me when it came to money.  
I was still tense though, I must have known there would be a catch; he was still talking in the same quiet, assured voice. “There's a little motel in Smitherson on route nine; we will have a couple of hours to kill – so we can stop there and have a few laughs,' he said.  
I kinda saw that coming, but didn’t really believe it, this wasn’t some soap, and I certainly wasn’t some kind of vamp. I had been affectionate to him, but that was to bring out the whole male protective instinct, not the predator instinct, and anyway, I was married; what kind of a woman did he think I was?   
“Seriously, you want to have sex with me? I thought that you were just a nice guy doing me a favor,” I dropped my arms to my sides, but , I admit, I didn’t step away from him, I just kind of leaned my lowered forehead against his chest. I had meant to sound derisive, and hurt, but to me I sounded just nervous and surprised. I still wasn’t sure that he meant what I thought he meant.  
“It's a very big favor you’re asking me, Frankie, and I find you very attractive,” he replied in a reasonable tone, placing his hands on my shoulders.  
That threw me a little, so he really wanted me. I stepped back again, away from him, because I felt an uncontrollable flush race over me. I didn’t mean to, but I coyly patted my hair and looked into his strong but friendly face, into his washed-out blue eyes. “Really?” I asked, and then caught myself. “No way. Who do you think I am anyway?” I snapped taking another step back and putting my hands on my hips.  
He smiled at me; “Someone who has made a lot of mistakes that have finally caught up with her,” he replied, the smug bastard.  
“You've got all the answers,” I shot back at him. I should have stopped the whole conversation right there and ordered him out of my house, but I was in too deep already.  
“That’s why you need me, not just anybody can pull this off,” he replied.  
“You're asking me cheat on my husband, to lie to him!” I snapped in indignation.  
His smile got wider, and I noticed how straight and even his teeth were, ya that’s what I noticed right there in the middle of all that shit.   
“Frankie, half the conversation we just had was about coming up with ways to hide things from your husband. Hell, we wouldn't even be having this conversation if you hadn't been lying and cheating for years.” The bastard did have all the answers.  
“Hey, I’ve never cheated on my husband,” I replied with more indignation. I realized that I had said “my husband” and not Mike, and that gave me an uneasy feeling. Still, it was true, I hadn’t even kissed another man since Mike and I started going steady… well since we got engaged anyway, and that was twenty years ago. Wow, twenty years.  
“Lying and cheating isn’t just about sex Frankie,” he said with a frown, and turned again to go. “It's okay, maybe you can get one of your other friends to help you out.”   
That stung me like a slap across the face; that was the problem, I didn’t have any friends, not ones that would stick their neck out for me, not even Mike. That was when I should have let him go, I mean, he was walking out the door, but I went after him. I reached out and grabbed his arm lightly.  
“Wait, just wait a minute, okay.” It took me a second to stop crying, and he waited for me. This was crazy, but as long as I had a piece of him I had hope. “I can manage this,” I thought. “Hell, I’ve been wiggling out of promises and obligations my whole life.”  
Once I got control of myself I crossed my arms again and tried to look shrewd and cute. The game was on, risky and outrageous as it was, “Okay Mr smug” I said to myself “Let’s see how well you make out.” After all, he had something I wanted, but, surprise, surprise, I also had something that he wanted.  
“Maybe, you know, maybe we could fool around a little in the car,' I said thoughtfully out loud.  
“Fool around?”  
I shrugged and blushed, God who would ever have imaged that I would be having this conversation at my age. But, that’s the kind of life I’ve had. “You know, kissing, maybe a little under the shirt over the bra action,” I replied trying to make it sound adventurous and fun.  
He smiled; “So you're not against it, the cheating, just how much,” he said.  
I let out a deep breath, gave up some of the tension, “Ha,” I thought to myself, “there’s where your wrong Mr Smug, because I haven’t done anything yet,” but I said, “Ya I guess so Tom; you've got me. I'm a whore at heart, just not a very committed one,” I meant to sound self-deprecating and funny, but it came out a little cruder than I wanted.  
We both laughed, “I think that we can do business,” he said. “We're not going to fool around, cramped up in a car, like a couple of teenagers. We'll hang out in a nice motel room, we’ll kiss, and let me feel you up a bit, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”  
I smiled. “It’s all talk,” I thought, but the old slang, “feel you up,” actually gave me goosebumps, which was surprising, and terrible. It wasn’t a phrase we used around here when I was a teenager, we used to just talk about “making out,” which pretty much always included what our parents called “heavy petting”. He wasn’t from around here that was for sure, in fact, he had a bit of an odd accent. I still couldn’t figure him out though, “So that’s really what you want to do? “I asked, and it was an earnest question.  
“Yes, that’s really what I want to do, Frankie; that’s my offer, take it, or leave it,” he replied casually, but firmly; he wasn’t going to waste any more time negotiating.  
“Alright. Okay. I'll do it. What choice do I have?” I said and flung my arms wide and shrugged helplessly before letting them slap back down against her thighs in apparent surrender. I could agree to that, it wasn’t really a big deal.  
“It's a deal then, come on, let’s hug on it,” he replied. He sure was a hugger, which I thought was a bit strange. I hesitated, but he stepped into me and put his arms around me and pulled me into his body. He hugged me tight, but not hard. I just kind of leaned against him, head turned to one side, bent back at the waist, and after all, I didn’t want him to think that I was thrilled about any of this, although it’s always nice to get a hug. He persisted. “Come on Frankie, give me a hug. We’re going to get to know each other a lot better,” he said.  
“Not a chance, mister,” I thought, but gave in and threw my arms around his shoulders. He was well built, he felt good to hold, and I wanted none of that going on in my mind. Like I said, I never cheated on Mike, but of course I’d had fantasies, who doesn’t? But they were never about real people, about people I knew and might be tempted to act them out with; my fantasies were always about characters in movies or books; actors and celebrities, not the kind of people you’re going to meet in the flesh on the sidewalks of Orson. So that doesn’t count, and besides, in my fantasies, I’m not me either, I’m not harried housewife Frankie Heck, I’m a princess, an ER surgeon, or some cocky, sexy FBI agent. So, even though sometimes I’d get really turned on thinking about these things, it wasn’t like cheating at all.  
“That's my girl,” he said, stroking my back; I didn’t like the sound of that, but what the hell, let him think what he wants to for now. I murmured some agreeable sounds and he soon let me go.  
“Good, I'll see you on Friday,” he said. “Don't be late; and maybe you could fix your hair a little, put on something nice, that would be cool,” he added.  
“Now you're going to lecture me on my appearance?” I replied giving him my “are you kidding me” look.  
He laughed, “Just a thought,” he said and gave me a little wave before he let himself out.


	3. The Easy Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wasn't going to change now; if things worked out my way then I would end up cheating Mike and Tom, and walk away from the whole thing pretty much unhurt.”
> 
> Frankie goes with Tom to Midland and he helps her dispose of her car, confident that somehow she will be able to outsmart him and slip off the hook

I knew I was taking a hell of a chance going off into the country with a strange man, but what else could I do? Well, of course I could have owned up to everything, and taken my punishment, but that seemed like a really hard road, and I was never good at doing the hard stuff. I had hardly slept the past couple of nights; every time I felt some guilt or remorse I was faced with a glum and distant Mike. Well fuck him, I began to think. No matter how I looked at things, I always came back to the thought of going to jail. That really, really frightened me. It scared me stiff, and on a couple of occasions made me just suddenly break down and cry. There was no way around it; I had to get rid of that car. As scary as this was, it seemed like the easier way.

Let's face it, I had always taken the easy way out. I was a half-assed student, a bad wife, a lazy mother, and a dishonest citizen. I wasn't going to change now; if things worked out my way then I would end up cheating Mike and Tom, and walk away from the whole thing pretty much unhurt. I would find a way out somehow, I wasn't going to let that bastard have his way with me, even if he really was kind of handsome in a rugged sort of way. I told myself I was going to outsmart him, but like all of my resolutions part of me had already given in even before it began. That's why I still went ahead and shaved my legs and even, after second thought, God help me, trimmed my pubes. I changed my mind a dozen times about what to wear; he said wear something nice, but what did I have that was nice? And if I did, should I wear it for him? I didn't want to encourage him, but I didn't want to piss him off either. In the end I settled on my usual get-up, but at least I made sure that it was freshly washed. I put on my least ratty bra, did my hair the best I could with my Frugal Hoosier hair care products, and cut all my nails. 

 

Truth was I didn't know where it would go; my instincts told me that he wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to tie me up in a basement somewhere, but I didn't really know what he was capable of doing. I didn't know what I was capable of doing, and that made me nervous, a little scared, and more than a little excited. Not sexually excited, really, but excited – my heart was beating and I was eager to get on with it. It was flattering to be wanted by an attractive man who actually had some money, hell it was flattering to be noticed by any man at all. In the past few years it was like I had become invisible to men, and once I had accepted that all I was left with was a grumpy, stone-faced, unfeeling lug of a husband and some selfish children. 

 

So I didn't mean to be late, I just was, as usual. He didn't say anything, just lead on.

 

 

####

 

“I've got to be back by three so that I can meet my kids after school,” was my opening ploy on the way back from Midland.

 

“You normally get home at five thirty, and your daughter Sue meets Brick after school,” he replied with infuriating confidence.

 

“How do you know that? Have you been stalking me?” I demanded, trying to sound very suspicious, like maybe it would be grounds for calling the whole thing off, and anyways, it was a little creepy.

 

“You told me that the other day when I came to look at the car,” he replied without taking his eyes off of the road.

 

“Oh, but Mike, you know, my husband – he gets home at four-thirty, so I have to be home well before that. We don’t want him to see us together,” I said. I had that one locked and loaded.

 

“He doesn't get home until five thirty either.”

 

“I told you that too?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Shit, I talk too much to strangers don't I?” 

 

“Yep, but most people don't really listen anyway. Don’t worry, I'll get you home before four- thirty,” he replied with amused assurance. 

 

That put me back on my heels for a bit. I did talk too much, in fact I guess I have poor impulse control in general. Still, it was nice to discover that he actually listened to me. I kept quiet for a while, trying to think of another excuse to cut everything short; I figured the longer he had to manhandle me, the more likely I was to give in and cross the line that would make me feel like a whore. I didn’t know exactly where that line was, but I knew that if he had enough time, we were both going to find out. I couldn’t really think of anything, but I tried to relax, after all, the car was gone, so I was in the clear, and what was he going to do if I backed out, call the cops? Would he call the cops? I didn’t know enough about him, but I didn’t want to seem too friendly either; I didn’t want to be friendly, or I might be more inclined to give in to his wicked desires. He didn’t say anything, he just kept driving at a pretty good clip, in silence, no radio, nothing, just the windshield wipers flicking on intermittent against the lightly falling snow. I kept squirming around so that I could dig the write-off slip out of the front pocket of my worn jeans, and looked it over again. As far as I could tell, it was all legit. 

 

“That's it then, I guess I'm off the hook,” I said, trying to sound confident, even triumphant.

 

“Once Gus burns it a couple of times the police will never recognize it,” he replied. 

 

“Good, good,” I said and folded it up and put it back in my pocket. I would have to remember to find a good place to hide it from Mike. “It should all be okay,” I added, nodding as I looked out the passenger window at the endless farm fields rolling by. I was a little bothered though. His friend Gus at the fire training center didn’t look much like a fireman at all, especially not a Midland fireman. He was short, dumpy, middle aged, and spoke with some kind of big city accent, maybe Italian, but not so extreme as say Jersey Shore. He was a friendly guy, very polite; he said he was a volunteer fireman, “on the administrative side of things, so to speak”. He had asked me questions while he filled out a form, the old fashioned way, on a clip board. One of the questions he asked was, “is this vehicle evidence in any police investigation?” I had hesitated at that, Gus looked up at me with a bland expression, like it was not big deal, but he didn’t say anything. I looked at Tom for something, I don’t know what, a sign that I could trust him. He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow. I didn’t know what the hell that meant, but I figured we were both going to be partners in crime, and he wouldn’t want to get us both in trouble by ratting on me in the future, so I said “no”, and then reluctantly signed the form. That was the thing, I signed the form, not him.

 

Through the whole process at the deserted training yard, I had tried to slow things down as much as possible, but he managed to keep everything brisk and on schedule. Damn, I wished I could do that in my daily life. Despite my best efforts to drag my ass, we were out of Midland by eleven thirty and heading back towards Orson. 

 

“Of course,” I said, “I still have to explain to my husband why I didn't get any money for the car.” 

 

“I’ll give you a check for five hundred dollars to show him, and if it goes well today, and when we meet again next Friday, then I will honor it,” he replied.

 

“Ya, I'm not sure I want to go that way,” I said with a fair amount of confidence, I figured it was time to test him, to see if he some other leverage. When I look back on it now, I realize that I didn’t really have a clue what was going on, and I had absolutely zero leverage of my own. He didn’t take the bait, he didn’t say anything, or even look over at me. It was getting really hot in the car; I had already unzipped my ski jacket, and now I reluctantly took it off. I didn’t want to give him any ideas. I had on one of my newer, but still old, track suit jackets on underneath.

 

“What about lunch; I’m really hungry, how about you, where are we going to stop for lunch?” I asked opening up a new line of delay. I mean, I really was hungry, and maybe he would settle for a nice lunch and some necking in the car after all, especially if I pretended that I was going to be difficult about the original plan.

 

“It's been taken care of,” he replied.

 

“Really? Thought of everything didn't you,” I said with a bit of sarcasm, but I was also curious, I had a feeling that if it “was taken care of”, that would mean that it might be something good, and I was hungry. I kept myself from asking what we were having, and tried to keep up my cool act. Well there was no way he could keep me from eating slowly.

 

“You look good today,” he said out of the blue, glancing over at me briefly and smiling. 

 

I didn’t hear any sarcasm in his voice at all. “Well thank you for that, I think,” I said and then added a little smart ass to cover how unexpectedly good it made me feel. “So tell me, Mr Smith, what do you do when you're not blackmailing helpless women into doing …… things?” I asked, trying to look at him sternly from beneath my bangs.

 

“It's not blackmail, and I don't consider you helpless, Frankie, just interesting,” he replied.

 

Again the warm feeling, “You didn't answer the question.”

 

“I have a few small businesses in town and elsewhere in the state.”

 

“Get out of here,” I said. I don’t know why I was surprised, truth is I didn’t know who he was at all, but I didn’t figure him for rich. After all, he was chasing after me, if he had money, he would have better fish to fry. And if he was a business man, why was he wasting so much time on me, especially when he wasn’t going to get any. He must have realized that by now.

 

He chuckled a little. He was very confident, whoever he was. So he didn’t consider this blackmail, what about rape, I wondered, but he had certainly tweaked my interest. Maybe he was just full of bullshit.

 

“Really? What business do you own?” I asked tartly.

 

“I have a self-storage complex out on Thompson. I have a paintball game range out highway 2 near Bark Brush, and I have a photography business, we do formal stuff, but not big group things like team pictures. We’re working on this new thing where we do a kind of fantasy set up where families or groups get dressed up and we do different backgrounds. You know like superheroes and gaming characters, that kind of thing.”

 

“When the hell did you do all that? You’re not from Orson, or I’d know you, and I’ve never even heard of you before,” I asked suspiciously.

 

“I've been here almost a year,” he replied easily.

 

Could that be true? “Where did you come from?”

 

“I was in the army; Fort Drum in Upstate New York was my last posting, and then I did some contract work with the Indianan National Guard. I saw some opportunities in the rural parts of the state and decided to stay for a while.”

 

“You saw opportunities in Orson?” I giggled. This guy was a genius or an idiot.

He laughed with me, “Some things work well in small towns, and I’ve spent a lot of time over the years in rural areas, all around the country.” 

 

“So you’re a real big shot, an upstanding member of the community around here,” I said, back to smart ass to make up for my bit of merriment.

 

“Yep, I have a lot to risk by helping strange women break the law, just so I can get them to do …. Things,” he said pulling into the parking lot of the Havens Rest Cabins Motel.

 

“Are you really going to force me to go through with this? “I asked firmly, I tried to sound a bit threatening, almost like I was getting to make an on-the-record statement of his guilt, hoping it would make him think twice.

 

“I'm not forcing you to do anything, Frankie. You don't have to do this if you don't want to,” he replied clearly, making his own formal declaration.

 

“What choice do I have?” I knew that wasn’t a good line of defense, and it came out a bit pouty. Surely, he wasn’t going to push me into this, really, not if I was reluctant, and unhappy.

 

“I can let you out right here; there's a phone in the lobby, you can call a cab, a friend, or why not call your husband, to come and get you. I'll call Gus and tell him not to burn your car, and you can go and pick it up whenever you want to,” he replied, hammering me down. 

 

He knew I couldn’t do any of those things, and I wasn’t even going to pretend that I could; “Sure, rub it in,” I said petulantly, crossing my arms.

 

The car was parked in front of the lobby, and now he turned in the seat to lecture me. “You didn't get here overnight Frankie,” he said. ‘You can’t dodge this one, you’ve got to take your licks one way or the other. Take ‘em from your husband and the law, play it by the book, or take your chances with me. Nobody is forcing you to do anything; you get to decide what you're willing to do to get by, but make no mistake, its decision time,” he said firmly, but with a reassuring smile. 

 

I thought about it for about ten seconds, taking a chance on him still seemed the easier path. “Alright, alright. I'm with you, Okay. You're the boss mister,” I said with a huff and blew out a big breath that tossed up my thinning soccer mom bangs.


	4. The Game of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fearing the worst Frankie is surprised by what Tom has planned for her.

MIDLANDS 

CHAPTER FOUR THE “GAME OF LOVE”

For just a couple of seconds, I was going to get out, really, but then what was I going to do? I had five bucks in my pocket, how the hell was I going to get home? Mr Smith, the son of a bitch, had hit it on the head – I didn't have any friends, and couldn't call my husband because I had been lying to him for so long it would take forever to explain it all, and there was no way he was going to have any sympathy for me. And he sure wasn’t going to admit that he should share some of the blame. No, it was always all Frankie’s fault. Well, if he had had a decent job we wouldn't be so damn poor, and if he wasn't so cold and distant maybe I wouldn't feel I had to lie to him all the time, and I could confide in him instead of taking it all on my own shoulders and doing everything myself. He’d probably leave me, the bastard, without even letting me explain. I was on my own as usual, and would have to get out of this jam all by myself, as usual. So, I would do whatever I had to do, and who could blame me. I would pay the piper, but I was still going to get the best deal I could, and pay as little as possible.  
I thought that Tom was going to get out at the lobby, but when I didn’t get out, he went straight around the back of the main building where there were five, very new looking, and good sized cabins. There was a car in front of the one at the far right; he drove to the other end.  
“This is it,” he said.  
I almost laughed as I got out of the car. I thought of the idea of a glamorous, sexy, cheating woman, and then thought of how I must have looked with my face tucked into the collar of my old, knee length ski jacket. I was not as nervous as I should have been going into motel room with a strange man, but at that moment I was mostly curious about the set up, and what there was to eat. He opened the door and ushered me in.  
He had done a lot of preparation, the sneaky son-of-a-bitch. The large room was dim, the curtains were drawn tight and all the light came from small bedside lamps on either side of the king size bed. Some sort of smooth jazz played softly. There were unlit candles, real dishes and cutlery set on the table where I had expected Styrofoam, and – I couldn't believe it – flowers.  
“I have to go pee,” I said kicking off my boots and scurrying to the far end of the room. I closed the door and locked it and took a deep breath.  
I was ridiculous, I couldn't believe it, I was crying – crying! Some bastard was trying to take advantage of me and I was crying because he had bought me flowers. But it was so long since anyone – anyone, my husband or my kids, had given me flowers that I couldn't even remember. Shit. I sat on the crapper and put my head in my hands. God was it so much to ask for a little affection, a little attention. My life was pathetic.  
I took off my coat and hung it on the back of the door, my plan was to stay locked in the bathroom for as long as possible, at least until he threatened to bust the door down. I kept expecting him to tell me to come out, but all I heard were sounds of him bustling around the kitchenette, then nothing. It was a very nice bathroom, clean, spacious, and modern. I considered taking a shower or a bath; how could he object to me taking a shower? But I didn't really want to take my clothes off before I had to. I reluctantly checked myself out in the mirror, wiped my eyes and patted my hair into place.  
So what was going on, I wondered, I mean what was all this? Was it rape, I mean, I wasn’t really doing this because I wanted to, but then everybody does lots of things they don’t really want to do, including sex. The guy was a rouge, a wolf, a predator, using every trick, foul or fair, to get into my pants. What was so strange about that, what was so wrong about that? As long as he didn’t use violence, or threaten to use violence, then it was just the same old “game of love” that had been going on forever. He was being a guy, guys did everything they could to get girls in the sack, and girls tried to make ‘em pay as much as possible to get them there. I was married, so what? Lots of people had affairs, sometimes it seemed like everyone was having an affair. I guess what really threw me was that it was me, I didn’t think of myself as on the market; I never thought I would be tempted. But this wasn’t an affair, I reminded myself, this was more like a business transaction; maybe it was prostitution, but then, a lot of women get lots of things for sex and no one calls them whores, well at least not to their faces. I took a lot of deep breaths; I was a gown woman, very grown, and this was no big deal if I didn’t make it into one. I had to do what I had to do, the main thing was just to make sure that no one ever, ever, found out.  
Still there was no knock on the door, no demands to come out. No threats. Had he left? Had he left me here in disgust and gone back to Midland? I felt a little rush of panic. I looked at my watch, shit it had only been twenty minutes – I felt that I had been in there an hour. The crapper seat was getting uncomfortable, and my stomach was growling. I cracked the door open and peeked out. Candlelight flickered on the wall, the gentle music played, but I couldn't see him. I stepped out into the main room and then saw him sitting casually in the armchair, fully clothed, thank God. He stood up, smiled, and despite myself, I thought how good-looking he was for a mature man, rugged but neat, well-groomed, broad shouldered and not freakishly tall like Mike.  
“Ahh Frankie, come and have something to eat.” he said.  
We had a fresh crispy chicken salad, not some fast food stuff either, with fresh assorted rolls, and real butter in a butter dish. Once I had sat down he went to the microwave and produced big bowls of beef barley soup. “I love beef barley soup,” I said despite my determination not to display any approval of anything he did.  
“ I thought you might. Do you like the flowers?”  
“Very nice,” I said as flatly as I could.  
“I know you can't take them with you, but I still thought you might appreciate them.”  
I didn't reply, not quite trusting myself, and wondered just what thoughts he had in his head. The suspense was getting to me, but it was not something that I wanted to address head-on, or even think about. It would be best to just handle this the way I handled most things; ignore them and hope they would go away. I was hungry and the food was good, the best I had had in a long time, and that was depressing. God, I had been sliding into poverty for years without really realizing it. I had gotten used to stale, crappy food because I was too poor and too lazy to do any better.  
And of course there was wine, white wine in real crystal glasses, and of course I had some after a halfhearted attempt to turn it down. It was very good, and I was soon on my second glass, still waiting for it to kick in. I had wanted to draw the meal out, but I gobbled it all and tried not to be too obvious about looking for more. We hadn't spoken as I concentrated on eating, and when I had finished he said, “Shall I put the coffee on to have with desert?”  
“I'd love some coffee,” I said. The silence had been uncomfortable, I couldn't help being polite. I wondered how far I would go to be polite, after all, this good-looking man had done me a very big favor and was treating me very nicely. I was feeling a little flushed, the room was quite warm, and so I sat back, and as casually as possible pulled the zipper of my sweater half way down. “Dessert?” I asked, looking up at his smiling face.  
He produced two plates from the fridge; “Triple chocolate fudge brownie with frosting,” He said.  
Triple chocolate fudge brownie with frosting, the sneaky bastard. “Very nice, thank you,” I said honestly. I was loosening up. “Mostly I get my frosting directly from the nozzle these days,” I said.  
“I've been known to do that,” he replied. “I'll bet you're a Yahtzee player Frankie,” he said as he brought the coffee.  
“I love Yahtzee, we used to play it all the time when the kids were younger, but now no one wants to play anymore. No one wants to do anything I want to do, or do anything with me at all these days,” I said. The words were coming far too easily now, and God I was starting to sound pathetic.  
He produced a micky of whiskey, 'Would you like cream in your coffee, or something stronger?” he asked.  
“Cream, I really should have cream,” I said. He put the micky down on the table, and turned towards the fridge. I changed my mind, “But what the hell,” I concluded and poured a stiff shot into my cup.  
“I'll tell you what we'll do Frankie,” he said laying a cloth in the middle of the table and placing a Yahtzee box on top. “We'll play a few rounds, if you win a round, I'll give you fifty bucks cash right here, right now. If I win the round, you have to kiss me, a real, serious, tongue in the mouth, French kiss, and, I get to remove a piece of your clothing. I choose which one, and I get to take it off you.”  
The guy was pretty smart; you want to impress some women, show them a good time, you might take them skiing at Aspen, or out on a sailboat at sunset, or to the opera, but that wasn’t me. Those things would have bored me to tears. I know it sounds cheesy, even geriatric, but if you want to show Frankie Heck a good time, you take her to a snug cabin, give her some good food and booze and break out the Yahtzee. It was the right move; most guys wouldn’t have had the guts to pull it off though, thinking it was too simple, too homey. Of course I had heard of strip Yahtzee, although I never got to play it, but here was his fatal mistake; sure he was going to show me a good time, but he wasn’t going to win a game, not against me; I was home free. I didn't hesitate for a second. “You're on mister; I hope you brought a lot of cash,” I said confidently.  
“I did madam,” he replied opening the box. I couldn’t help it, I was starting to like the guy.  
“This is going to be fun!” I said rubbing my hands together. I couldn't think of a better way to spend an afternoon, and I really, really, needed some cash. Just as I had hoped, things were working out after all. A little guts and faith was all it took.  
I had the hot hand, and blew him away the first time. Whenever I got a Yahtzee I shouted it out. “In your face mister,” I laughed. He laughed with me; he was relaxed, rolling the dice with a flourish, and groaning dramatically when the dice didn't go his way. He didn't seem to mind losing at all; in fact he seemed to be having a good time. God, was it possible that he was enjoying being with me. Wow, was it possible that this was his idea of a good time too?  
When I won, he promptly reached for his wallet, pulled out a fifty and placed it on the table in front of me. I scooped it up and shoved into the front pocket of my jeans. No one was getting their hands on this money; it was my money. I poured myself another shot.  
The next game was close, too close, and I was really getting into it, intensely enjoying every throw. I didn't realize that I had lost until we tallied up. “No!” I said, and recounted both our sheets. I really had lost. Shit.  
He stood up and offered me his hand; “time to pay up Frankie,” he said.  
I stood up reluctantly; shoulders slumped. I crossed my arms and looked up to him.  
“Come on Frankie, fair is fair. Get into the spirit of the deal,” he chided.  
Actually I was pretty loose, more than a little buzzed. I was dangerously warm and tingly and willing to be a good sport, so I opened my arms and let him embrace me. He held me tightly and I held him back, full body to full body. He was pretty trim, and his arms and shoulders were strong. Then he kissed me and like a good sport I yielded. His tongue entered my mouth and I responded. I hadn't had a good kiss in a long time, and not with another man in twenty years. I tasted only the whiskey, and closed my eyes and didn't think of anything at all. He didn't push it, and soon broke it off. I was breathless when he stepped back.  
“Now, what shall I take off?” he said. I shivered as he stepped behind me and kissed the back of my neck. He ran his hands down my arms to my hips. “Do I take the sweater?” He moved back around in front and ran his hands over my butt cheeks and gave them a good squeeze. “Or the jeans maybe?”  
I felt a moment's alarm as I stood there passively with my arms down at my sides, but then he started to slowly pull down the zipper of my sweater. “You look pretty hot,” he said. “I think I should give you a break.” He leaned closely into me as he brought it off my shoulders and then off my arms. I couldn't help it; I was aroused. My nipples drove through the thin worn material of my bra and the tight, light blue tee that I wore over it. Everything I own is worn out, with thin patches, and little holes or gapes or stains, that’s why I always wear layers, to cover them up. He kissed me again, firmly grabbing one of my tits and squeezing the stubborn hard nipple. Before I could protest he let me go.  
'Rack ‘em up,” he said sitting down.  
I crossed my arms over my naughty breasts and quickly sat down, red faced.  
He brought me Perrier on ice while we played the next game. I had had enough booze to keep me high for the rest of the afternoon, and he seemed to know that. Luck was with me; it had to be, because I couldn't really concentrate, what with the booze and trying to keep my tits covered. Anyway the dice were with me and I won easily. He paid up cheerfully. I took the money and even blew him a kiss. I was having a ball, I hadn't even thought about the time.  
It took me a while to click in to the fact that I was losing the next game, I couldn't even remember starting it. It was close, down to the wire, and I lost. I reluctantly got to my feet, trying to look stern. He kissed me, and I gave in, yielding, kissing him back, eyes closed. It was all happening so fast now. He was a bit more forceful, crushing me to him, grabbing my ass.  
“What shall I take now?” He asked softly from behind my neck. He ran his hands down my arms, toyed with the bottom of my tee. “This?” He lifted it a little and I raised my arms above my head, but he stopped. “No,” he said, “I think these tight jeans have to come off so that you can be more comfortable.  
“Oh no!”  
“Oh yes, I think so,” He crouched down in front of me and deftly flipped open the top button of my jeans. I dropped my arms and reached for my zipper.  
“No I can't!”  
“Now Frankie, a deal is a deal.”  
“But I don't have any panties on!” I hadn't been able to find any clean ones that didn't have any holes, so I had decided to go without any at all.  
He deftly pushed my hands aside and firmly brought down the zipper. “Ho, ho, all the better!”  
“Well, be careful, okay,” I said in resignation. He wasn't going to take no for an answer and I was in no shape to fight.  
“Okay, stop squirming and nobody gets hurt.”  
I rested my hands on his shoulders, closed my eyes tight and stood still.  
He slowly drew down my zipper; I swear I could hear every tooth as they parted.  
“Mmmm,” he said and then took my jeans by the waistband and pulled them down over my hips, tugging a little. He stopped when they were half way down my naked ass and kissed my belly and my pubes. I was so glad that I had taken the trouble to trim them, and to shave my legs. That was what I was thinking, not about modesty, but embarrassment. I guess that shows what kind of hussy I am. Not worried about being stripped by a strange man as long as I didn't look unkempt.  
He pulled them down further, just past the bottom of my cheeks and stopped again. He stroked me and nuzzled my pussy. I breathed deeply and kept my legs squeezed tight. He didn't try to force them open, just pulled my jeans down to mid-thigh, then down to mid-calf. He moved around behind me and kissed my ass. I giggled and lost my balance and stumbled onto the bed. He laughed and yanked them all the way off. I lay back, half on, and half off the bed with my hands over my pussy. Then I realized that I was lying on the bed and jumped up, not wanting to give him any ideas. He helped me up and pulled me to him and then kissed me again, having a good time working over my butt, bringing my arms up and draping them over his shoulders so that his hands could have free rein. I let him, yep, I just let him have at me, but in my defense I kept my legs together even though, to my shock, I was starting to get wet down there, and a bit weak in the knees.  
I don't know what I would have done if he had kept at it, but he broke it off, stood back and took a good look at me. I was breathing deeply, practically panting, completely flushed, and sweating a little. I covered myself up with my hands.  
“Don't hide Frankie,” he said. “You've got a sweet pussy. Come on, let me see, put your hands on your hips,” I blushed and rolled my eyes, I couldn’t believe I was having such a conversation, it was like we were a couple of teenagers, it was kinda great.  
I did it, stood there with my hands on my hips staring at him boldly, a little defiantly. “There, happy now?” said, like it was no big deal.  
“Yes, very happy,” he replied smiling.  
I couldn't help stealing a look down at his crotch. Like a gentleman he had kept his jeans, his nice, clean, tight jeans on. There was a very large bulge running up his belly, long and thick. I had felt it, but wasn't sure that it was really that big. I thought of how Mike was not very well endowed for such a tall guy. I blushed. “Well you could at least go get me a towel to sit on,” I said.


	5. Chapter Five     A Woman of Her Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie dodges a bullet, but now what.

I was surprised, and sure, a little disappointed, that he had not pressed his advantage. He had me, I was warm and loose and kinda……. Removed from reality enough that he could have had his way without much protest. Of course I recovered, I mean, I wasn’t going to attack him, but for a while there I was pretty much on a cloud, feeling better all over than I had in ages, and not bothering to question why. It all gets a little misty and vague for a bit, but I do recall that he gave me lots of gentle compliments in his slightly gravelly voice. I remember him saying something nice about my cheekbones, and I replied, “I don't think there were any bone in the cheeks you were looking at mister.” Yes, I was flirting, still a little drunk.

“I think all of you is gorgeous. Come on, one last game.”

“You're on.”

I was starting to sober up, and he very thoughtfully gave me more water and a small bottle of aspirin. I was sober enough to play a good game, but the dice just weren’t with me at the end. “Damn!” I shouted at the dramatic finish. At that point it was all about the money for me, money I could put in my own pocket and do whatever I pleased with. I was over the hump, mostly, about taking my clothes off. If he was going to rape me, or worse, laugh at me, he would have done it by now, and the kissing nice. I stood up without a fight, I didn't even cover my pussy, instead I moved into him quickly, putting my arms over his shoulders and leaning against him hard. I let him cover me up with his hard, warm body. “I could really have used that money,” I said wistfully, but I wasn’t wheedling, it was just a true statement.

“Aw well, I guess you’ll have to meet me for a rematch on Friday,” he replied, and hugged me for a bit before he moved in for another kiss. I was still thinking about the money, but his slippery tongue and roaming hands soon made me forget it, at least for a while, and I got into it, I mean I kissed him passionately, as passionate and yielding as I had ever been to anyone in my life, including Mike, of course. We were really making out, man, and soon I was breathing heavily. I was “hot and bothered” as we used to say, but I kept my thighs together like I had through most of high school, and he didn't try to force them open.

“Come on, get it over with,” I said heavily, even huskily, if you can imagine that from me, when he ended the kiss. I looked up at him from under heavy lids, and even then he could have “taken me”, I would have gone “all the way”. I was wet and even eager, and I had formed a desire in my mind to get a good look at his penis that seemed so big. I don’t’ know if he didn’t realize this, or if he knew and just wanted to tease me, because he did tease me.

He slowly lifted my tee, softly kissing my belly, arms and shoulders, making me shiver. I didn’t wait for him, I lifted my arms and I pulled the shirt over my head and tossed it onto the bed, like some hot chick in a movie. My nipples were rigid and aching, poking through the thin material of my non-padded bra. I shuddered, and caught myself in mid-moan when he started licking them through the material. With my arms still in the air, he moved around behind me and fitted the ridge in his jeans between my ass cheeks and slowly thrust up and down while he cupped my tits and kissed the back of her neck. I didn't resist, I just stood there obediently, I had surrendered, and I thought “this was it, surely after all this, we had to be going all the way”. I couldn’t help myself, at that moment I wanted him to take me, my hips started to respond to his thrusts and I expected, to feel his hard flesh against my ass any second. He was driving me crazy, my pussy was very wet now. 

I was just about to whirl around and kiss him, to actually tell him that I wanted it, but he stepped back, slapped me firmly on the butt and said “I am afraid it's time to go home Frankie.”

It was a good thing that he was behind me and couldn’t see the look of disappointment, even despair that crossed my face. My mouth fell open, and I had to stop myself from crying out in frustration. Now I was really blushing, I avoided looking at him at all, as I scurried around the room gathering up my clothes, and then dashed to the bathroom.

I looked at myself in the mirror, “who are you?” I whispered. I was more reluctant to come out now than I had been at the beginning, but I knew that we were out of time and I couldn’t dawdle. I went pee, wiped myself thoroughly, washed up and threw on my clothes. I gave him only a little shamefaced smile as we got into his car, and kept silent looking straight out the window as he warmed it up. 

He pretended not to notice my discomfort, and turning to me said; “Next Friday, Eleven O'clock in the municipal parking lot on Cluster. We’ll go someplace nice.”

“Okay,” I said without looking up. 

“I was going to wait to see if you showed up, but since you were such a good sport this afternoon I think I can trust you, so I'm going to give you the five hundred in cash now,” he said. He took the money from his wallet and held it out to me.

I looked at him from under my bangs, still very shy, “Oh,” I said, “thank you,” and took the money and put it in my purse. He had surprised me again, and I was on the verge of starting to blubber, so I quickly looked away and stared out the passenger window. “I'll be there; I'm good for it,” I said, and at that moment I meant it.

“I'm sure you are Frankie,” he replied gently and pulled out onto the center bare highway and headed back towards Orson. The light snow had stopped falling, and the temperature was dropping, but inside his car it was snug and warm. I was secure enough with him to tilt my seat back a couple of notches and lay my head to the side, still looking away. Before I knew it I was fast asleep. 

 

####

 

I felt that I had dodged a bullet. If Tom was good to his word, and I had to believe he was, then the incriminating car was destroyed, I was off the hook for the hit and run, and I had five hundred bucks to wave in Mike's face. And I had gotten it cheap, Tom had me, and there is no telling how far I might have gone to get out of that jam. Instead I had gotten away with a little flashing and kissing. And now that the car was taken care of and I had my money, there was no need to see him again. Obviously I didn't have to keep my word to an extortionist. I needed to treat the whole thing as a wakeup-call and change my ways so that I didn't end up with my back against the wall, or my backside up against something else, again. 

But it was just so much work! I had to defend the job I had, find a new one, take care of the kids, make up to angry Mike, and figure out how to get six or seven hundred more dollars, secretly, to pay off my tickets. All difficult, all hard, and I wasn't getting any help or encouragement from anyone. Even Sue had become uncharacteristically withdrawn since Mike and I had started the latest round of serious fighting. After the initial relief, all I felt was a great big letdown. I felt like I had sacrificed, had won a victory, and should be welcomed with open arms. Instead all I got was the usual cold shoulders. All Mike had to say about selling the car was “Good, maybe now we can pay some damn bills around here.”

I didn't even have to hide the fact that I was a bit hung over, the way my life was these days, who would know the difference? Mike didn't even come home from the quarry that Friday night, but went straight to his second job. Sue was working at the mall and had to come home by bus, so she wouldn’t be home until after ten. Brick was buried in a book as usual, and of course Axel couldn’t be bothered to call from college. I was going to stay up and chat with Sue when she came home so that we could re-connect, but I was wasted and crawled into bed and fell asleep right away. It had been a very exciting day for me, very stressful, and I was so dead that I didn't even wake up until Mike was getting out of bed the next morning. 

“I'm going over to my dad's with Norm to see if we can sell some of his shit before he ends up on the street too. I’ll head over to the warehouse straight from there. You still have time to do some job hunting if you can drag your ass out of bed,” he growled.

I looked bleary eyed at the clock on the bedside table; it was eleven o'clock Saturday morning.

“Fuck you Mike,” I mumbled. I don't know if he heard me, but he didn't respond, even though I don’t use that kind of language very often. I guess we weren't in make-up mode yet. 

Sue went to work, Brick went to the library, and I went back to sleep. I got out of bed long enough to make the kids some crap for supper, then Sue went out with some new friend and Brick went back to reading in his room. Some Saturday night eh. I really felt like a drink, but there was nothing in the house, and I was so bored that I broke down and took the bus to the nearest strip mall that had a drug store and a liquor store conveniently side by side. Even by bus I figured it to be a real quick trip, so I didn’t even tell Brik I was going. I usually bought my wine by the box, but I needed something I could hide, so I started to buy a six pack of wine coolers, then changed my mind and got vodka coolers which have more alcohol for the same price. At the drug store I bought some decent hair and skin care products and a few discrete food items that I could hide.

Drinking coolers on the couch I tuned out the usual crap on our crappy TV and started thinking. I didn't really want to think about anything but it began anyways. What was I supposed to be thinking? God, not that long ago I had been so fiery and passionate about everything, where was it now? Anger? I had been victimized, molested, assaulted, and yet I didn't have any anger. Guilt? What did I have to feel guilty about? What had I done that was so bad after all? Showed a little skin, kissed my way out of a corner. If I had anything to feel guilty about it was all the things that had brought me to that motel room in the first place. 

But you know, that was my life, and Mike had been a part of it all the way. He was part of the skating and the laziness and the letting things slide. He hadn't exactly climbed to the top, or even the middle of any career himself, and he was so cold and unsympathetic there was no way I could confide in him. Well I guess I had some things to feel guilty about; dodging parking tickets, bad driving, not owning up to my mistakes. Okay, so yes I had screwed up too, so sue me, I was just the same as everybody else these days. 

Hmmm, maybe I deserved to be punished. Maybe I wanted to be punished. Hmm, I began to drift, maybe I needed to have my bare ass put over someone's lap, someone strong and authoritative and a little older. Maybe I needed to have my bare ass spanked real hard with my bare pussy grinding into his lap until... I shied away from that with a little guilty grin – ha, there was some more guilt! Funny, it's not like I had been spanked as a kid, or went to some private school where they did that sort of thing. I hadn't really been punished at all as a kid, maybe which was my problem. Wait, who said I had a problem? 

Fear? Certainly fear, but maybe not about the right things. I was afraid of going to jail; that was real, and not at all unreasonable. I was terrified of being locked up, just the thought of it made me start to choke. No, no, I couldn't even think of it. I was also afraid of Mike, terrified of his anger, of his hate. I was afraid that he would hate me and make me feel it in every pore of my being. Compared to those fears, going into a motel room with a strange man, a clean, polite, attractive and good smelling man, was a piece of cake. 

There were other emotions troubling me, but I would have to deal with them later, because once I started thinking about jail I couldn't think of anything else. I opened another cooler (my third), and squirmed on the couch. I had to pay off those tickets or they would be coming for me sooner or later. Somehow I had to come up with at least five hundred dollars, and I had to do it without Mike finding out. How the hell was I going to do that when I couldn't even make enough to pay the bills? It pretty much had to be something illegal. I began to try to figure out a way to steal from Dr Godwin since the bastard was going to fire me anyway. I thought and thought and schemed and imagined until I couldn't think any more. I hid my remaining coolers and the empties in the laundry room, and brushed my teeth really, really well. I was still afraid that he would smell it on me so I curled up on the couch instead of going to bed, and cried myself to sleep. 

Sunday Mike slept and slept. At two o'clock he was still in bed, and I resented it. Of course the man was working ten hours most days, and sixteen hours a day three or four days a week, and not living any better than I was. Still, I felt like he was just avoiding me. How was I ever supposed to confide in him, how were we supposed to get through all of this if we didn't work on it together? Had he given up on me, on us? Damn it, I hadn't given up on us, but I couldn't do it alone. We mumbled and shuffled through supper, we were even civil for a while until we started talking about the bills, which ones to pay and which ones to put off. 

“Don't you see Frankie?” he said through gritted teeth, talking to me like I was a stupid child, “It's simple; we have to work and work and work to make enough money to dig ourselves out of this hole. No more screwing around! No more goofing off, god damn it! Then maybe, in a couple of years we can put our heads up and look around. It's either that or we end up on the street, Frankie. On the street, Frankie, do you understand what I’m saying? Do you get that! Is that what you want?”

“No,” I managed to get in petulantly.

“Well right now it's what you deserve,” he said cruelly and stormed out. 

I kept expecting him to calm down and come back and reconcile, but it still wasn't happening. Sunday night was another night on the couch all by myself with blank despair and more tears. Monday morning he woke me up; “Get out and find a job Frankie,” he said still sounding furious, still sounding like it was all my fault. “I'm not kidding,” he growled, again like he was warning one of the kids.

I tried. I cleaned myself up and went out with a new clutch of resumes. Taking the goddamned bus, I marched around from one new humiliation to the next, and made sure that I didn't get home until Mike had left for Little Betty. By now Sue was taking care of Brick almost completely, both of them avoiding both of us, as much as possible. I had no energy or optimism to go after them and try to make it better. 

So Monday night I was left alone with my thoughts once again. Humiliation? Not with Tom; a little shy and embarrassed sure, but what woman feels comfortable revealing her body to anyone, stranger or not. Truth was, he made me feel good about my body. He praised it, he wanted it, and he enjoyed it. I hadn't had that kind of ego boost in forever. No, humiliation was begging a teenager for a shitty fast food job and being turned down. That was rejection, now… that was humiliation. To be locked up in a cell, striped searched and probed, now… that would be humiliation.   
Envy? Jealousy? I sure felt those emotions, I felt them towards everybody who didn't think it was a big deal to have a decent meal and have someone give them flowers.

Still, I pushed those thoughts aside and tried real hard to feel affronted, guilty and ashamed, and to blame it all on my lousy financial situation. The week passed in another slow grind made much worse by having to take the bus everywhere in the freezing March weather. Now that was real hell; that was a real, in-your-face, admission that you were poor. I managed to hold on to my job day by day while I tried to think of a way out. All the while I kept telling myself that there was no way I was going back to Tom to pay my debt. I told myself this on Thursday night even as I shaved and trimmed myself again, and even spent some of the last of my secret money to touch up my die job, carpet and drapes. 

I sat on the edge of the tub and dabbed my pussy dry, only it wasn't dry on the inside. I was getting wet remembering standing, bare assed in front of him. I remembered his tongue in my mouth and his hands all over me, he had brushed my pussy just like I was doing now. I had kept my legs clamped tight and he hadn't pressed it; but what would have happened if he had persisted? What could I have done? I would have had to give in, wouldn't I? Slowly he would have parted my thighs until his fingers found my clit. Ahhhhhh, and then my legs would open willingly and he would have slid them along my slit and then gently worked... 

“Mom!”

“Shit,” Brick was pounding on the bathroom door and I immediately lost the orgasm I was reaching for, the one that I hadn't had for over a year. 

Later that night, while Mike was still at work I tried to recapture the feeling, but the bed was too full of memories and familiar smells, smells of tears and failure. Damn. I pushed those thoughts away; I was… not going to see Tom, and that was that.

Of course I was there in the parking lot just like he had told me to be. I had put on new pantyhose, no panties, which was kinda my thing now, my best bra, and a dress that I had bought intending to take back, but never had. In the end I had decided that “Frankie Heck was a women of her word.”

I had begun by thinking that I had pulled a fast one on Tom, but ended up thinking that I had cheated him. I mean, he had done a lot for me when no one else would. He had paid a lot of money and he had been polite, even thoughtful, through the whole thing. He deserved a fair shake. In truth I really wanted another nice afternoon, a little fantasy in my bleak life. Maybe I really was a whore at heart.


	6. An Excellent Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True to her word, Frankie meets with Tom again as she promised. She thinks she has the situation under control now, but Tom is full of surprises.

<  
“Right on time,” he said smiling as I got into his warm car.

“I bet you thought I wasn't going to show,” I replied with shameful light heartedness.

“Nah, I never doubted you for a minute.”

“I bet; but I tell you, Frankie Heck is a woman of her word. A deal is a deal. I might not like it, but you have held up your end, so I will do the same. You really did help me out of a tough jamb.”  
“You look really good Frankie, very nice. I like your hair, you went a bit darker,” he said reaching out and just lightly touching the hair near my cheek.  
It was ridiculous how good that made me feel; not a single man had commented on, or even noticed my hair in years. “Thank you Tom,” I replied and found I had to control my breathing, I felt such a rush of excitement.

We chatted about the weather and he listened while I complained about my job and the fact that I was just hanging on to it by the skin of my teeth, as he quickly left the center of town and headed south towards the lake. Soon we were out in the country, but before I could get nervous we turned at the sign for a paint ball ranch.

“Oh, this is the place you told me about. You’re taking me to play paint ball?” I tried to make it sound like I was joking, but I don’t know if I managed to hide my disappointment.

He laughed; “not today, it's doesn’t open until mid-May, but maybe some time we could do that. I bet you’d be good at it; there’s a bit of a desperado about you. Ya, I think you’re a bit of an outlaw at heart.”

I made pistols with my fingers and pretended to shoot at him laughing. God I was practically giddy, what an amazing thing for him to say; me, a desperado? Hunh. He drove us past some extensive obstacles and field works, and a new looking clubhouse. “You're taking me to the woods?” I laughed nervously. Some desperado.

He just smiled, and a couple of minutes later we rolled up in front of a modest cottage that looked out on the lake. “You own this place?” I asked in surprise, it still hadn’t dawned on me that this guy might actually have some money, that it wasn’t all bullshit.

“I got it with the range, a nice package deal.” he replied casually. It’s not very big, but it’s only about four years old so I’m not expecting the usual chores you get with a cottage.

“Sure,” I nodded, as if I had any idea what it was like to own even a small cottage. I looked at him a bit differently as I got out of the car. He was good looking, polite and well off; what he hell was he doing chasing after me? Did he know something about me that I didn’t? Did he see something that no one else could see?

“It's all season, but I haven't had much of a chance to use it since I bought it in the fall,” he said as he opened the door.

It was toasty inside and smelled gloriously of pine and wood smoke. “It’s, very nice.” I said. It seemed to be just one good-sized, rectangular room, open concept place with light wood paneling and rustic touches. There was a large window looking out onto the lake along one of the long walls, the curtains were open, but sheers let in light and still left us some privacy. There was a kitchen at one end with an eating area, a living space with a couch and coffee table took up the rest of the room with a stone fireplace at the end and comfy looking bed off to the side. It was not a rich man’s lodge, but it was very nice, something most people in Orson couldn’t afford these days. A fire burned in the fireplace, the table was set once again with real dishes, cutlery and, gulp, beautiful flowers. I had kinda been hoping for that, but still, it gave me a burst of warmth as he took my coat. 

The place was tidy, but not spotless, it was lived in with some stuff randomly on dressers, suitcases by the door. “So you live here?” I asked.

“When I’m in Orson, I rent a place in Midland too at the moment, I’m still a bit unsettled as to where my center of gravity, businesswise, is going to be,” he replied.

I went straight to the bathroom again, but this time I didn’t try to drag things out, I just wanted to check myself out in the mirror, and check him out. I felt I looked a lot better than last week; my hair was freshly dyed and well combed, and I had makeup on. I wore the nicest thing I had, a conservative, dark purple dress with a square collar that didn't show any cleavage, even though I’m in pretty good shape in that department. Still, it was tight enough to leave no doubt that I was no twelve year old, if you know what I mean; of course, he knew that. The material was pretty thick so you couldn’t see that my nipples were already stubbornly, rock hard. 

The bathroom was about the size of ours at home, cleaner, I have to admit, and with new fixtures, but nothing really fancy. There were a few manly things about, (and no womanly things) but nothing revealing, no pills in the medicine cabinet, for instance.

We had big bowls of thick, spicy goulash soup and BLT sandwiches, and of course, wine. I chatted brightly, nervously, and inside I almost cried wondering why things couldn't always be this good. Even after my second glass of wine I still found it hard to sit still. I squirmed in my seat anxious about what was going to happen next, and more than a little horny. God what was wrong with me?

I wasn't even thinking about the time, in fact I was kind of eager to get started; the suspense was killing me. I practically rushed through a delightful chocolate cheesecake desert. Fresh coffee was served with liquor, Cointreau for me, (with all this pampering I was beginning to feel like a freaking contestant on The Bachelor) and I waited for the table to be cleared.

“Ready to get your ass kicked,” I taunted brightly. “I'm not as drunk as last time, and I would really like to put some of your money in my pocket. Or maybe I'll just stuff it in my bra cause you ain't getting that,” I laughed, feeling very cocky, and pretty reckless.

“Good, bring your glass and come on over to the couch.”

The couch was on one side of the low coffee table and there was an armchair on the other side. He took the chair, and I curled my legs under me on the couch very conscious of the hiss of nylon against nylon as I scissored my legs. There was no Yahtzee on the table.

“Today' game is backgammon,” he said.

“Not fair,” I protested.” I don't know how to play backgammon.”

“But you're a smart girl Frankie,” he replied with a wicked grin. “I'll teach you, and I'm sure you’ll pick it up right away. Anyway I'll give you a free game to warm up.”

“Well I guess it’s your house, your dime,” I said a little reluctantly. I mean, I was looking forward to losing at bit, but I had also hoped I could make some money as well.

“So it is, but I'll tell you what, I'll up the ante; one hundred bucks for you if you win, same deal as before if you lose.”

“Alright buster, show me how it's done,” I said leaning forward.

 

####

 

He walked me through the rules, which didn’t seem too complicated, although I was having trouble concentrating. We played a practice game, and I almost beat him, so I figured okay, let’s do this. 

He kicked my ass. “Damn, I told you I didn't know the game,” I said. “What do you want me to do?” Well anyway, it was a relief to get started, maybe after a good kiss and some groping, I’d be able to concentrate better.

“Stand up, move out where I can get a good look at you,” he said in a nice, deep, commanding tone, and I just had to do as I was told, didn’t I. 

“Looking good Frankie,” he said appreciatively as he slowly circled me, making me feel like a work of art. “You should dress up more often. Nice dress, nice nylons, I wonder if you've got any panties on underneath them.”

“I ain't telling,” I said, very coy, very naughty.

“Then I guess I'll have to find out for myself,” he said and moved in, took me by the shoulders and bent down for a kiss. I met his tongue half way into my mouth, and got right into it, no holding back, giving him his money's worth, lips and tongue, all very nice.

He moved around behind me and slowly pulled down the zipper of my dress. He kissed the back of my neck and the top of my back, giving me a new round of shivers. Then he pulled the zipper down the rest of the way down, and pushed the dress off my shoulders before he moved back around in front of me, and took me in another long kiss. I joined with him eagerly, really enjoying the play of our tongues. I told myself that I was just doing what I had to do, what any grown woman would do in my place, but it was like there was a gently mocking smile right in the middle of the darkness behind my tightly closed eyes. I was enjoying this, and I suspected that he guessed that too. He moved back around behind me and eased my dress slowly down my back, kissing me all the way down, making my pussy wet and my knees weak. Then he pushed it over my hips and let it fall to the floor. 

“No panties, very nice Frankie, very nice,” he said rubbing his face against the cheeks of her ass which made me come out with a kind of a throaty giggle; I had never made that sound before in my life, but then no one had ever done that to my ass before either. He spun me around and nuzzled my pussy while stoking my butt, that was more familiar, but it still felt very, very good. My breathing was starting to quicken, and I was shamefully, and obviously wet. He slowly rose up, kissing my belly and the parts of my breasts at the edge of my bra, and then finally, mercifully returned to her mouth. Going at it again, holding me tight, and pressing his big hard bulge against me, I got completely lost in the kiss. I didn’t know or care where I was or who I was, it was wonderful. He started to break off the kiss, and I made a little complaining moan and tried to chase his lips. I looked up at him, drowsy with lust, my eyes half closed, my mouth parted.

“Another game?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied, in a husky voice, not believing that he wasn’t going to take me right then and there. Couldn’t he tell that I wanted him to do it right now? I licked my lips, maybe hoping he’d get the message. “Sure,” I said, a little more steadily a second time.

The next game went pretty fast, and I think he let me win. He promptly paid me off, and as I boldly stuffed the crisp twenties into my bra I felt another rush of desire. God, maybe I really was a whore, at least the money wasn’t a turn off in any way.

I couldn’t believe that he wasn’t going to do anything. I downed my Cointreau, and he brought me some Perrier, and didn’t seem to notice that I couldn’t take my eyes off his crotch as he came back from the fridge. The son of a bitch was hard, that was for sure, and he sure seemed to be having a good time when he was feeling me up. “Enough with the formalities already,’ I wanted to shout as he set up the third game. It was close, but I hardly cared at all, the feel of my own pantyhose was driving me crazy, as was the smell of his aftershave and the wood smoke from the fireplace.

He won and I practically leapt up, and went and stood expectantly beside his chair. I was dying for a kiss, dying to feel his arms around me, and he must have felt it because he pulled me into him hard and kissed me more urgently than he ever had before. 

That settled it; I had been thinking about just how far I would let him go from the time I got into his car, telling myself that he deserved good treatment, but not everything he wanted. By now I had forgotten about my marriage, and money, and going to jail, all I was thinking was that I wanted him to take everything, I needed him to take everything. When we parted I said softly, “Why don't you just pay me two hundred dollars for my bra and pantyhose, and we can go lay on the bed.”

“Excellent plan,” he said without hesitation.

I was pretty sure I had just sold myself for two hundred dollars and a nice lunch, but I felt like I was getting the best of the deal. “And you can take off those damn pants that keep chafing me,” I added, almost like I was in charge.

He quickly stripped off his clothes and jumped onto the bed, I didn’t have to look hard to see that his big, and I mean big, cock was rock hard and sticking up at a pretty fierce angle. I watched it bounce and his balls sway as I took off my bra and tossed it, money and all, onto the coffee table. It felt good to let my tits free.

“Keep your pantyhose on,” he said, watching me from the bed.

I took my hands away from the waistband and smiled at him, “You're the boss,” I said, and then climbed into his open arms and we started kissing again.


	7. Amateur Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie trots out her limited sexual skills and experiences Tom's masterful response.

I wanted to eat him right up, and he seemed to want to do the same to me. We really went at it for a while. He stroked my neck and back and I took the opportunity to reach down and get a hold of his cock. Now, I never was you know, cock crazy, I mean it’s not like I ever went out of my way to see any, and I guess I had never really felt one, besides Mike’s, but I had been thinking about this baby all day. I grabbed the shaft, feeling it fill my hand, and I have unfortunately large hands for a woman. I checked out the length by feel, and realized that it was definitely longer, as well as thicker, than Mike’s, who I’m pretty sure was about average. The head felt very broad and I wondered, with slutty presumption, if I could take that. I mean of course I could, but I was going to feel it. I couldn’t quite reach all the way down to his balls, so I was going to have to wait to get a good feel of them. His skin was surprisingly smooth and soft over the rock like shaft. 

Mostly I was curious, I wasn’t really trying to please him that way, Mike and I never went in much for foreplay, or any other kind of play for that matter, so I doubt that I was any good at it. I guess I wasn’t what you would call “good it bed”, but then neither was Mike, so we never complained. When we were kids, and a few times in the later years, not in the last five or six though, we might get really passionate, but that just meant that we were more vigorous and it ended even quicker than usual. We were lazy and boring about sex, just like everything else. When, from time to time, I really needed to get off, I did it myself, and I assumed that Mike did the same.

Sex just wasn’t a big deal for us, so you could almost say that I was a virgin, at least in the advanced sex department. That didn’t bother me, hey, he came after me in the first place, I might have been a little flirty after I got to know him, but I sure wasn’t bragging about my sexual skills, and he must have known that, after all, I was pretty sure that, strange as it seemed, he liked me, because I was me. Wow, it was like the end of days or something. Of course, being so inexperienced, I didn’t realize just how bad I really was, and I don’t mean morally bad here, I mean poorly skilled. At the time I didn’t know just how good it could be, I had no idea how high the bar could be set, if I had, then I would have slunk away in shame. And anyway…… at the time, I wasn’t thinking any of this, I was just incredibly horny, hornier than I had ever been in my life, and getting hornier by the minute.

He was taking the lead anyway, getting what he wanted; he pulled me up so that he could lick my breasts and suck on my nipples. I squealed, ya squealed, and laughed and then he tossed me face down, and to my surprise, straddled me with his bare cock rubbing between the nylon cheeks of my ass. This was new for me and, a bit strange at first, but then ahhhhhh….. Not bad., I instinctively arched my back a little and stuck up my butt so that his strokes worked more directly on my pussy while the nylon was shifted back and forth, ever so slightly against my clit. It was nice, but I wasn’t really sure where he was going with it, I mean, at some point the pantyhose were going to have to come off if we were going to get serious, right, and I wanted to get serious. He started massaging my back, and that felt nice, and familiar, and I let out some appreciative sounds, I had a lot of knots back there, years’ worth, decades worth, and he started getting at a few of them with his strong fingers, starting with my neck and working down to my shoulders and back, taking time to squeeze the sides of my breasts, forcing his hands right down and around them and gently pinching my nipples. And all the while he kept me pinned down with his cock driving harder and harder against my butt. She soon I wasn’t just arching, I was humping back.

He rested his face on the small of her back with my butt cheeks right at chest level, and his cock down around my slinky, rounded calves, and began massaging my thighs and ass. I kept moving my hips slowly, hoping he would get the message, I slowly spread my legs and he worked a hand under my pussy so that now I was humping his hand with my wet pussy, oh God, how shameless I was. This was very personal stuff to be doing with a stranger, even a nice one. I groaned with relief when he finally started to pull down my pantyhose, but then he went soooo slowly, I could hardly bear it. He dragged the nylon inch, by inch over the top of my ass and when he got just below the cheeks he stopped and started gently running his fingers over the goosebumply, that’s probably not a word, but you know what I mean, skin. I wiggled my ass and moaned, when the hell did my ass cheeks get so sensitive? Then, suddenly and forcefully he yanked the pantyhose down to mid-thigh. I held my breath, not knowing what was going to happen next when he reached up between my legs from behind and rubbed my clit, making me moan and drip, ahhhhhh, I was dripping onto his sheets, I felt so deliciously like a slut, like I had never, ever been before in my life. Then he moved back up to my face, rolled me over and started kissing me. It was a wonderful kiss and I could have let it go on and on, and probably would have, and had an orgasm just like that, but then I noticed the slight, but persistent pressure he was putting on my shoulders. I got the hint and slid my face down to his crotch. 

“God, what a big penis you have,” she said. “I mean, really, no kidding, it's big,” I said, practically panting out the words.

Well, obviously the next thing to do was put it in my mouth, that’s not a problem for me, I’m pretty oral, and I’ve put nastier things in my mouth over the years, not cocks of course; I only ever had one other penis in my mouth and that was Mikes, and he never seemed to really enjoy it, it was more of a formality with us in the early years and then we just kind of gave up on it. This was different though, everything was different, the whole atmosphere, the smell. Ya, the smell, I never thought a penis could smell good, but his did, especially with the wood smoke and the clean sheets, except where I had made a slutty mess over them. I had never really had a good look at a grown man’s cock, mostly I kept my eyes shut when I “blew” Mike, so it was all amazing, and not just because he was so big and so clean, and so well formed. 

I wanted to devour it, so I just went straight ahead and forced my lips over the wide helmet, not quite filling my mouth, but I have a big mouth, like my hands. I got the whole head into my mouth and just started sucking, it’s felt like what I wanted to do; I wanted to bite it too, but I restrained myself. I wasn’t sure if guys liked that, but I guessed they wouldn’t. Then I started kind of French kissing it, you know, like it was his tongue, I know that sounds a little weird, but it just came natural, I wasn’t thinking much, but then it occurred to me that I was supposed to lick it first, something I had heard or read in Cosmo, so, a little embarrassed by my over-eager hunger I took it out of my mouth.

It gave me a chance to get a better look; I held it up off of his belly, and man it had some real….. torque to it, you know what I mean, and it was hard. I licked up and down the shaft, I kinda slobbered a bit, so at least it was well lubricated, then I went back to the head which was much more interesting and ran my tongue around it like it was a lollipop, the way I was told back in high school, and then I toyed with the openings, very tentatively, with the very tip of my tongue, and he seemed to like that, which made me feel nasty and good. Pretty much of its own accord my hand started going over the head of his slippery shiny penis, like I was polishing a knob, and you know I just kept at that for a bit, almost like in a trance, it was something that just felt good to do. He seemed to like this as well, and he bucked his hips a little, which I figured was a good sign, and kinda cute, in a sexy, keeping my pussy wet, kind of way. So I figured I was doing a good “blow job”, although it didn’t seem like work to me, it was fun and I didn’t get any less horny from doing it, believe me. I tried to do something with his balls, which were also big, and yes, hairy, now that I could reach them, but after hefting them and squeezing them a bit, when I could manage to get both of them in my hand at once, I worried about squeezing too hard and hurting him, you know how sensitive guys are about their balls. 

“Suck it Frankie, put it in your mouth and really suck on it,” Tom instructed from on high, and I kinda got the feeling that I wasn’t doing as well as I thought, but asking him seemed like too much, I wasn’t ready to be that slutty. So I got up higher on my knees and lowered my mouth down on it, past the head, and really started to suck. At any other time those words would have been deeply offensive, but right know they gave me shivers, and made what he wanted me to do feel so …………necessary, so desired, I wanted to “really suck on it.”

“Harder, Frankie, suck harder,” he urged, and I tried to suck harder, and started to naturally bob my head up and down a bit to help the suction; I can’t remember what my hands were doing, but one must have been stroking him. Saliva was dripping out of my mouth and along his shaft, the whole thing was a sloppy mess. Then he started pumping his hips harder which was alarming because it was pushing his monster cock further into my mouth, and I was already breathing frantically through my nose, fortunately I have extra-large nostrils, their not very attractive, but at least in time they would help make me a better cocksucker, but not yet. I may have had the face for it, a natural cock sucking face, if you can imagine such a thing, but I still didn’t have any knowledge or talent. I was starting to feel smothered and in danger of choking, which would have been gross, but fortunately he couldn’t stand it any longer, either because he was overcome with passion, or just annoyed at my amateurishness; I prefer to think it was the passion, and he lifted my face off of his penis, and at the same time grabbed my hips and swung me up so that I was sitting on his face.

Sure, me and Mike had done the old sixty-nine a few times, but it was never like this, actually this wasn’t really like sixty-nine, because I wasn’t really so much sucking his cock as holding on to it for dear life, while his fabulous tongue worked briefly on my pussy and attacked my clit. I had always thought that sitting on a guy’s face was just too nasty, perverted even, but oh God, the sensations that he was giving me now had me bucking and driving, I mean really jamming my crotch down onto his face! 

I could feel his nose in my pussy, his tongue on my clit and his strong hands on my hips, and I didn’t even care that he might be smothering down there, or drowning, if you want the embarrassing truth; all I cared about was getting off. I could feel this massive orgasm building and building, it had been growing all day, but now, in just the last few seconds it swelled into something huge and all encompassing, and I wanted to make it break wide open and feel the release. In no time there it was, and I don’t know what Frankie Heck’s body was doing at the time, although there had to be a lot of convulsing and shuddering, and squeezing, of his cock with my hands and, God help me, his poor face with my thighs, because my mind was gone, lost in the clouds, lost in a shimmering darkness exploding with lights. 

From a far distance, it seemed, I could hear a long wailing scream; I sure hope it was me. Somewhere in the middle of those fireworks, ya just like in the movies, somewhere in that explosion of previously unimaginable pleasure I was aware of my furious grip on his big tree-branch of a cock, like it was a tree branch that I was clinging to in a twister. It started to convulse in my hands and then burst out with a huge explosion of cum that shot up into the air, all the way to my head level, some of it even curved back and splashed on my freshly dyed bangs. For some reason this kicked me into an even higher gear. Cum on my bangs, why that? I was lost for a while longer before I finally collapsed, politely shifted my hips off of his face, and lay my flushed, happy, tear- streaked cheek on his thigh.


	8. The Kiss off?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is being very nice, but why?

I spent a long time in the shower; first of all, it had great water pressure, maybe because it was right on the lake, and second, I was very confused. God, my pussy still throbbed and I was weak at the knees from the greatest orgasm of my life, and the first one of any kind in almost two years. It took me by surprise, I had just been going along, maybe letting myself go a little too easy, a little too far, but I had never meant for that to happen; I was supposed to be doing him a favor, paying my debt, not getting my own rocks off. That seemed too much like cheating, but God it was soooo good. This was insane, I was breathless, yet couldn't keep my hands from straying back down there. 

When I got out of the shower he was standing there naked, waiting for me. Getting a good look at him, I thought again how he was in pretty good shape for his age. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but he had to be older than me, his body said about thirty-five, but everything else about him made me think that he was probably closer to fifty. His cock, which I couldn’t help but look at, was hanging down now, and it still looked large and beautiful. He kissed me on the forehead as he slipped past me into the shower. “That was great Frankie, I'll be out in a minute,” was all he said.

I was very sheepish and shy as we got dressed and went out to the car. I felt more exposed to him now than when I was standing half naked in front of him in the motel room for the first time. There were too many emotions to deal with at the moment, so I just smiled and kept quiet. Before he started the car he handed me a piece of paper from his pocket. I unfolded the paper; it was a receipt from the city for seven hundred and fifty dollars. 

“What’s this?” I asked, totally not expecting it.

“Tickets paid up, along with all the late fines.”

I couldn’t help it, I started crying, and then bawling. “This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me, ever,” I blubbered and reached over and hugged him awkwardly. “I will pay you back.”

“You don't have to do that Frankie,” he said. “Just consider it a favor between friends.”

“We are friends right, Tom?” I simpered.

“Of course we are Frankie,” he replied a little too casually.

“Good, I need a friend.” I said.

Later, as I sluffed and slogged through my dreary weekend, mostly alone, it occurred to me that maybe he had been giving me the kiss off. It hit me like a thunderbolt. I had already told myself that all those things I said after, you know, he sent me out of my freakin mind, all that was just post orgasm love talk, completely ridiculous and out of the question. I had determined that there was no way I could ever see him again, not after… well …that. But when I decided that, I had figured that as soon as the aftershocks of our orgasmic encounter had died down, I would let him down gently, ya okay, so I’m an idiot. And maybe in part of my mind I thought I would just leave it sort of hanging so that I could call on him if I really needed to, in case of some emergency. But by paying off my tickets he was giving up the last lever he had against me, the fear of going to jail which had been the clincher that had put me in his hands, his wonderful, strong hands, in the first place. So what the hell? Wasn't I good enough for him? Was it something I’d done? Was my blow job that bad? I mean, it wasn’t just me, he let loose a hell of a load too.

Of course it couldn't go on, but I had wanted to be the one that said no. It started to really bug me, and then it started to gnaw at me. By Saturday night I was sunk into the couch drinking my secret coolers and staring at a bleak, featureless, endless future. Then the phone rang.

“Frankie?”

“Tom?”

“Hi, how are you?”

“I'm okay,” It was the first time he had ever called me at home. It was completely unexpected, dangerous, but wonderful. 

“How’s the dentist job, you still hanging in there?”

“Barely, but ya, the bastard hasn’t fired me yet,” no mention of our last encounter, no hint of it in his voice other than genuine friendliness; either he was being discreet or I hadn’t left much of an impression.

“You still looking for some extra work?” he asked.

“Ya, absolutely, ya I still need something,” I replied with almost pathetic eagerness. God I didn’t want to be all needy with him.

“I just snapped up a new storage facility; it’s been around for a while and needs some sprucing up, but I got a great price……” he started.

“And what, you need some help cleaning the place up, hey, no problem, I’m great at cleaning,” I interrupted him managing to be both rude and dishonest at the same time in my eagerness to get some work.

He chuckled, he had a great chuckle, I really liked his chuckle; “Well, a bit of that, but the thing is, this place has been poorly managed for years and there are literally about thirty units that have been abandoned…..”

“Oh, and we’re going to have auctions like Storage Wars, God, I love that!” I exclaimed, but even as the words came babbling out of my mouth I was telling myself “shut up Frankie, be cool damn it.” And how did I decide that it was going to be “we” that were having the auctions, like I was his partner or something.

 

“Well, that kind of thing really isn’t that common, at least not around here…..”

“Oh,” damn it Frankie, stop interrupting him, I thought.

“But,” and here his chuckle was starting to roll into a little laugh; “I still need someone to go through them and look at all the stuff, some of it probably has some value, and there’s no sense in throwing money away. At any rate, I have to decide what to throw away, what to give away, and what to hold on to and check out.”

“And that’s where I come in?” I asked hopefully feeling proud of myself for keeping quiet as long as I did.

“Right, I’ll pay you twelve bucks an hour, proper paycheck, all the right deductions, all the standard benefits plus, say twenty-five percent commission on whatever we sell……..”

“That sounds great!” I blurted, and already I was imagining finding a Rembrandt or Washington’s secret diaries and making it rich. Twelve bucks an hour was generous, a lot of people would have jumped at it just for a shot at the commission, they probably would do a better cleaning job too, but I didn’t say that.

“I would like to have it all done by June, but we can be flexible on the hours, you can work the days you want and for as long as you want, as long as the job gets done. At least the sorting job, the real research, and maybe flogging some of the stuff at flea markets, that could be afterwards, just as long as I get the units cleaned up and ready to rent by June,” he said. 

It took my breath away, I wanted to jump up and down; it was perfect. As soon as that thought struck me my shoulders sagged a bit; “So what's the catch?” I asked a little sadly.

“Couple of catches I guess.”

“Of course.”

“The place is out route eighty-eight just on the outskirts of Midland,” he said like it was no big deal.

“Midland! That's no good for me; you know I don't have a car. How am I going to get to Midland?” I cried.

“I won’t be around too much, but there’s another woman in Orson who will be working with you, and she’s happy to carpool. She's an outgoing girl and would love the company, you can split on gas, and she’ll pay for everything else. We can work something out, like I said, the hours are flexible. ”

“That sounds great,” I said, well it kinda sounded great, I liked the carpool idea, and having someone to share the workload with, but I wasn’t crazy that there was another woman that I would have to share my windfall with, and ya, who might have a thing going with Tom. “What's the last catch?” I asked. I knew that it had to be a big one. 

“You'd be working for me.”

“Mmmm,” I made a skeptical sound to cover the little tremors radiating out from my crotch.

“I can be pretty demanding, making you go on long lunches, business trips, that sort of thing, all on the clock, of course,” he replied slyly.

I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, “oh, this is going to be bad, this is very slippery and dangerous, I was sure of it because my first reaction was happiness and excitement, it was what I wanted to hear, but that was a terrible admission to make. Did he say business trips? “I suppose we could see how it goes……” and I just stopped myself before adding something flirty. 

“Did I mention there would be performance bonuses,” he added, coming a bit farther out on a limb than I thought he would.

“Well.....” I let a silence run on for a few seconds to make it seem as if I was thinking about it. “Sure, I'll give at try. When can I start?” I said brightly, taking about two seconds to choose adultery, maybe, as a lifestyle.

“You still off on Mondays?”

“Oh ya,” I replied, actually licking my lips.

“Monday would be good, then I can show you around a bit before I have to take off to Chicago for a while. Monday morning Max will be outside your door at eight o'clock, if that works for you, otherwise you’ll have to make your own arrangements,” he said, and he didn’t really sound all that flexible.

“Do I need to bring anything, what should I wear?”

“You’re gonna get dirty, so dress appropriately, the place is heated so you won’t need your woollies,” he replied.

“Or my panties?” I wondered.

“Bring your work papers so we can get you on the payroll. We’ll figure out what the place needs after we’ve had a better look around.”

I hung up with a big grin on my face. “Take that Mike, you sour son of a bitch!” I shouted into the empty house. “Frankie’s got a job just like you wanted, and maybe, just maybe, Frankie’s gonna be real friendly with the boss!” 

Then I did a little victory dance on the stained, dull linoleum of my kitchen floor, and after a bit more giddy laughter I took a long shower, jumped into bed and fingered myself to a decent orgasm thinking about all the money I was surely going to make, and all the naughty things I just might do in Midland.

####

So that’s how I crossed the line into a brand new life, something that I never thought I would do. Of course, that was just the beginning. It turned to that a life of adultery was much more complicated, and interesting than I could have guessed. Anyway, if you’re interested in and of…that, give me a shout and I could tell you a few things.

Frankie


End file.
